


Tavern Night

by inkwellofstars



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Original Character(s), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellofstars/pseuds/inkwellofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace finds Marco and a fisherman talking at the local tavern. Certain things are revealed in their conversation, even though Ace might not realize it. </p><p>(Marco is older than he looks, and has not always been as responsible as he is now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tavern Night

Ace was told to find Marco at the tavern near the wharf.  _The one with the sign that looks like a crow,_ Thatch told him, clasping his hand around a wad of beli before he could protest. _Tell him his division's in charge of watch tonight, and have a drink or something while you're at it._

So he went, walking past rows of low-roofed houses, and found the tavern with a crow sign. He ducked inside, and saw Marco's back at the bar, the edge of his purple coat brushing against the legs of his stool. His face was turned towards that of his companion, a stocky dark-haired man wearing the white tank and loose gray pants common among the fishermen of this island.

“Oi, Marco!” he called. Two heads turned towards him. He stood there just blinking for a moment, because there was something familiar about the fisherman's face. “Hey, this guy your brother or something?”

Marco's shoulders stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but the fisherman laughed.

“Just an old drinking friend,” he said, his voice booming, low and rough. Nothing like Marco's smooth, lazy tenor at all, Ace noted. On a second glance he didn't look that much like the first division commander—his shoulders were broader, his face tanned and lined from a lifetime of working out in the sun. A harder face, but one that smiled easily.

“So this is the boy you've been talking about, eh?” He clapped Marco's back good-naturedly, before motioning Ace to join them. As he sat down and got a closer look at the man, he revisited his suspicions. He really did look too much like Marco to be anything but a relative—it was in his half-lidded eyes, the curve of his mouth, the shape of his hands.

“Name's Ace. Nice to meet you,” he said, offering his hand, because it would be a shame to waste all of Makino's effort in teaching him those manners back in Fusha.

“Taku, and likewise.” The fisherman gave him a considering look as he withdrew his hand, before handing him a beer. “So you're the one who tried to kill Whitebeard a hundred times. Gotta admire that kinda spunk in a young man.”

“More like despair at his idiocy, yoi,” Marco muttered into his beer.

Ace laughed sheepishly, knowing that Marco was hiding a smile. Being reminded of his failure at killing Whitebeard didn't bother him like it used to. Very little set him off nowadays.

He took a sip of his beer before remembering why he was here, and relayed Thatch's message. Marco sighed, finishing his beer before leaving some beli on the bar and rising from his seat. After exchanging farewells and a promise to meet up again with the fisherman, he strode out of the tavern.

Ace called for more beer and a plate of stew, and was nearly halfway through his meal when he noticed that Taku had been observing him, a small, mysterious smile on his face. He stared back.

“What you lookin' at?” he said, mouth half-full.

Taku's smile widened. “You're from the East Blue, right? Got any family back there?”

Ace saw no harm in the question, so he answered. “A brother. He'll be leaving soon to become a pirate though.” And because he was never taught to not go poking at things that weren't his business, he continued, “You and Marco are brothers right? You look too similar to just be friends.”

Taku laughed. “How old do you think Marco is?”

“Thirty? …thirty-five? He can't be older than thirty-five.”

Taku grasped at his sides, unable to stop his laughter. “Oh gods...well, can't blame him if he wants to keep his age from the kid he's sweet on.” As Ace looked uncomprehendingly at him, he took a swig of his beer. “You're good for him, you know. You give him a challenge. Don't think I've seen him this riled up about someone in years.” He glanced at the clock by the bar, before rising and leaving his own little pile of beli on the table. “Well it's about time I got back home. Drop by next time you dock here. My wife makes a stew better than they serve here, and my kids love stories about adventures.”

Ace promised to visit, and waved to the man as he walked out.

When he returned to the ship, the sun had long set, and Marco stood by the prow, looking into the dark sea. His head turned at the sound of Ace's footsteps, his lazy smile illuminated by moonlight.

“Had a good talk with Taku?”

“Just a bit. He's a good man.”

“Yeah. A good man, with a good life.”

“He told me I was good for you, or something like that.” Ace leaned his back against the side of the ship with a sigh. “I didn't really understand. Kinda reminds me of the things you say to me in that way, actually.”

Marco made an amused sound, but didn't reply.

They stood there watching the sea together for a while. The waves were gentle tonight, and Ace found his eyelids drooping to the sounds they made against the ship.

“You should go to bed, yoi. Your division's in charge of tomorrow's watch.” He nodded his assent and started to walk towards the men's quarters. At the head of the stairs, he looked back.

Marco was watching him with a quiet smile. He smiled back and continued his descent. He could ask Thatch about the things Taku said in the morning.


End file.
